


Mustangs

by thecarlysutra



Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU PWP in which Maverick and Ice are riders on the rodeo circuit competing against each other.  As requested by smartpeopleonice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustangs

  
“You wanna know who the best is?” Goose asked Maverick, pointing out to the field, where a blonde cowboy was mounting a mustang. “That’s him. Iceman.”

Maverick watched the cowboy ride the mustang, his thighs tensing as he tried to maintain balance. Maverick felt himself begin to sweat beneath his Stetson, and for a moment removed it, used it to fan himself. The cowboy on the mustang arched his back as the mustang reared up; the cowboy grinned, his pale eyes sparkling. Maverick felt his mouth go dry

The blonde cowboy hopped off the mustang; Maverick tried not to notice the way the muscles in the blonde cowboy’s ass flexed as he dismounted. The cowboy—Iceman—ambled up to the fence, still smiling.

Maverick tipped his hat, mostly to hide his blush. “That’s some riding.”

Ice’s smile grew. “I know.”

Maverick frowned. He was a cocky son of a bitch. Of course, that was something Maverick had been accused of, himself. Someone called for Goose, and he walked off, leaving Maverick and Ice alone. Ice’s eyes ran over Maverick’s form in a way that made the heat come to his cheeks again.

“You like how I handled that mustang?” Ice purred. Maverick bit his lip; he didn’t trust himself to speak. “You want me to handle you like that?”

Maverick's heart fluttered in his chest.

“My quarters,” he said, aware of the pleading edge in his voice. “Tonight.”

Ice just smiled.

Maverick lay awake, blood thrumming in his ears. He kept checking the clock: when was Ice going to get here? Was Ice standing him up? Finally, he heard a rustle at the window; Ice slid the window open and climbed inside. Maverick got up to meet him.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Ice smiled that cocky smile, and smoothed a stray hair from Maverick’s eyes. “I’m worth waiting for.”

Maverick kissed him. Ice’s hands found Maverick’s waist, and he drove them back to the bed, not breaking the kiss. They fell, a tangle of legs, onto the bed; Ice’s white Stetson fell off and was lost somewhere on the floor. Maverick’s hands tore open the front of Ice’s shirt, wrangled with his belt buckle; Ice’s hands on Maverick were gentler, more competent, calmly undressing him. Shit, didn’t the fucker ever get worked up?

Ice still had his boots on, and his jeans, but they were open at the front. Maverick had tugged them down low enough to know he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Ice still had his boots on, and he was settled between Maverick’s legs, giving him the sweetest kisses and running his hands over Maverick’s body, his bare chest and shoulders. Maverick felt something coyote hungry inside him, and he flipped them over so that Ice was on his back looking up and Maverick was atop him. Ice gasped; the sound was so beautiful Maverick laughed aloud. Maverick lay Ice back and finished undressing him.

Ice was beautiful in the moonlight, all the muscles Maverick had admired watching him on that mustang there for him to touch. And he did touch him, with his hands, his mouth, Ice’s fingers tight around his hair. Ice looked at him with low-lidded eyes, the corner of his plush mouth quirking up.

“You want me to ride you, don’t you? It’s why you asked me here.”

Maverick blushed crimson, though the dark hid it. He nodded.

Maverick had watched Ice rub down the mustang after breaking him. His hands had been confident, but gentle; he had loved him down. And that’s what it was like for Maverick, being with Ice, being the mustang; Ice broke him, and then he loved him down. Maverick hid his moans in the pillow while Ice rode him, Maverick’s fists white-knuckling the sheets. Ice owned him now, the same way he owned that mustang; Maverick imagined Ice’s brand on him, marking him, and he came.  



End file.
